Mortality
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: *AU* Tests to the limits of his own psychic ability, a girl who can't stay dead, ancient cults, lost Sumerian temples, and the reappearance of his long-missing father? If Draco Malfoy had realized what he was getting himself into, he probably would've let Potter's call go to voicemail that morning. (Dramione) MATURE CONTENT
1. One

**DISCLAIMER****:**_** Harry Potter **_**characters & certain other key elements(c) JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story.**

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><p><span><strong>CONTENT WARNING<strong>**: My AU fanfictions tend to veer**_** very**_** far from their source material, despite parallels, and/or the use of certain key canon elements. If this does not sit well with you as a fan of the source material, then please, read no further. Thank you. :)**

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><p><span><strong>My other <strong>_**HP **_**Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered_ (Dramione [**One-Shot**, Lemon])

_Dame Blanche _(Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Hints of Drarry [PwP; _only _on AFF. net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact _(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism_ (Draco/Hermione/Blaise [PwP; _only_ on AFF. net])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor _(Dramione/Bits of Lumione/Hints of Harmione) **COMPLETE!**

_The Scavengers _([AU] Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me_ (Dramione/Scormione [18 yr. old Scorpius])

_Tourniquet_ (Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

One

The buzzing of his phone by his ear pulled Draco from slumber. Blinking bleary eyes open, he looked at the number disrupting his sleep and frowned, deeply.

"Potter," he barked into the phone, the name a tired rumble of syllables. "For God's sake, how many times do I have to tell you? _You_ dumped_ me_. If you do not stop trying to talk me into one-off's, I swear—"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. Just shut up and listen."

Draco pulled himself to sit up, his shoulders slumping forward. "God, you're a wretch first thing in the morning. Fine," he said, rubbing absently at his eyes.

"Look, you know the lab I work for?"

"You mean the one where you'd lose your job and probably end up in a ditch, somewhere, if they knew how much you talk about it? Yeah, vague memories of that."

"Well, they're looking for a psychic. A good one, with valid, respectable credentials. You have references for those cases you helped the police with?"

Grey eyes rolling, Draco stood, stretching as he trudged across his bedroom. "I told you I don't do tests. I don't need the money, and I'm not interested in proving the existence of ESP to another bunch of daft scientists who wouldn't recognize paranormal phenomena if it bit them on the arse."

On the other end of the line, Harry held in a groan. "Why do you think I asked if you have your credentials? They don't want to test _you_, they want someone with established ability."

"You're really serious about this?"

"Yes! Look, I can't tell you anything more over the phone." Harry rattled off an address. "That's the public entrance. Meet me there in an hour."

"Meet you there? You work for a government facility, here I was expecting I'd be chucked into a windowless van with a sack over my head."

"Nah, from what I understand, they stopped doing that 'cause it's too obvious. They'll probably make you sign your soul away if you say a word about any of this before letting you past the public access areas."

"So you want me to meet you, and bring credentials, and sign terrifying legal documents, but you can't tell me _anything_ about what's going on?"

Harry sighed into the phone—a sound Draco recognized as one of resignation. "Okay, I can tell you _one_ thing. It's about a girl. One with . . . big, _brown_ eyes."

Draco stood up a little straighter, one dark eyebrow arching up into his silvery-blond hair. "Brown eyes?"

"Chestnut's probably a better description of the color."

Biting his lip, Draco shook his head. Damn. He had a weak spot for brown-eyed girls. And Potter knew that. _Bastard_.

His eyes rolling once more, he braced for Harry's expected chuckle as he said into the phone, "What was the address again?"

* * *

><p>Two hours later, he was still unhappily plodding through security stations, flashing a visitor's pass, brandishing the documentation on his credentials, and signing papers. Honestly, Buckingham Palace had less guards and protocols than this place.<p>

And he was relatively certain he was somewhere in the bowels of the earth, by now. Suddenly Potter's quip about signing away his soul felt even less amusing than it had the first time around.

Of course, there was also the troubling moment when he looked up and Potter was gone. From then on, he was escorted by another doctor. In a suit, odd—perhaps he'd seen too many films, but Draco expected everyone would be in white lab coats. He'd not seen a single one.

The ginger-haired gentleman seemed kindly enough, but struck Draco as a bit of a fuddy-duddy; an expression he disliked, but it fit.

As they passed the final security point, Draco turned toward the older man. "Um, sorry, where'd Potter go?"

"He's overseeing a study just now. I'm Dr. Weasley, or Arthur, if you prefer. I've been tasked with briefing you on the subject."

Draco only nodded as he was lead into an unassuming office. Again, he felt jarred, but perhaps he expected too much based on popular culture. He'd anticipated clinical grey-white walls, long metal tables and folding chairs.

Sterile, antiseptic, and yet . . . he might as well be looking at the home-office showroom set of any furniture store.

He took a seat in the armchair the doctor indicated and waited. He watched every single movement Dr. Weasley made, his eyebrows lifting as the man brought him a silver tablet.

Sitting down beside him, rather than at the desk, Dr. Weasley swept his finger along a row of tabs, opening several files at once. "Here, have a look."

Draco's gaze moved across the reports, his brow furrowing as his mouth puckered. "I don't understand. Why am I looking at list of clinical deaths?"

Dr. Weasley gave a small smile that was somehow very sad. "Because each was recorded from the_ same_ subject."

Pulling his lips into thin line, Draco set the tablet on the desk, a mirthless chuckle sounding in the back of his throat. "Sorry, I don't deal with _zombies_."

"Mr. Malfoy I assure you, this is no joke. Nor is the subject a zombie, or any other sort of rubbish everyone's going on about these days."

Draco started at the serious tone the man took so suddenly. "Then . . . what is this subject? If it doesn't die when you stab it, or shoot it, or fill it with a fatal, incurable disease?"

"Come with me."

Doctor Weasley led Draco from the office into a viewing room. The window looked into a comfortable flat—or at least what appeared as one. The space was all one, large room. Bed, dining area, a barely concealed washroom and toilet; a sofa faced a switched off telly and a collection of gaming consoles.

"The subject is the first documented living person . . . who cannot be considered legally human by any civilized country in the world."

"Because they can't die?"

"Yes and no, Mr. Malfoy." Dr. Weasley shook his head, looking past Draco to the middle of the flat. "When one is no longer bound by death, they, by definition, are no longer human. But the subject breathes, has a pulse, and a heartbeat. Brain function. Quite a remarkable brain at that. But we can't consider her condition as you stated it, because as the reports you viewed indicate, the subject _does_, in fact, die. What we need to know, is why she lacks the ability to _stay_ dead."

Draco blinked rapidly several times as he at last allowed himself to process what he'd heard. "I had a feeling you were going to sum it up that way. What do you need with me?"

"Oh, there she was, right in front of us all along." The doctor indicated the area behind Draco with a lift of his chin.

Frowning—he didn't like being put off—Draco looked over his shoulder. There was movement behind a few large stacks of books on the floor before the sofa.

The stacks toppled, revealing a girl with a wild mane of golden-brown hair, her face tipped down into a book as she scribbled furiously in notepad set on the floor beside her. She looked peaceful . . . and normal, not at all some runny-skinned, flesh-eating living corpse. Draco didn't know if her not-unusual appearance was comforting or frightening.

Shouldn't she somehow_ look _not-human?

"As the first of her kind, so to speak, we refer to her as One. Though she doesn't respond to that, of course. We are searching for more like her, as you can imagine. Simply haven't found any, yet."

Draco rolled his eyes, tapping a foot impatiently. "Yes, fine, whatever. You still haven't told me what _I_ am doing here."

Dr. Weasley watched the girl behind the glass for a long, silent moment.

With a heavy sigh, he said, "As I stated, we need to know why she doesn't stay dead. However, there is no device that can monitor her once she's clinically dead, and when she wakes, she has no recollection of her time dead."

Swallowing hard, Draco held up a hand, bracing his other hand against the glass to steady himself as the situation became_ very _real, _very _fast. "You want me to _follow_ her?"

"Yes," the doctor said simply, shrugging. "There is no difference in her DNA that explains her condition. Her blood type isn't even uncommon! The only explanation left to consider is a metaphysical cause. Why else would we bring in a psychic?"

Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. Had he gone mad and not even realized it? Here this doctor was discussing killing a person—a girl who_ couldn't stay dead_—as though they were talking about the weather! He usually possessed a very general disregard for other people, but this . . . there wasn't even a word for the level of insanity _this_ was.

"You want to kill that girl, while I'm connected to her, so you can do what with the information, exactly?"

Dr. Weasley frowned, clasping his hands in front of him. "I am afraid that information is above your clearance level. Mr. Malfoy, if you change your mind, that is still your choice. At this moment, you've committed to nothing more than maintaining silence on what you've seen here." He smiled a strange, serene smile. "We'll just find another psychic who _won't_ ask so many questions."

The thought that there was someone who could be brought in that might be even more callous than Draco, himself—someone who'd simply complete the job, and walk back out, without a _single _question—set off a chill in the pit of his stomach. Biting his lip, he looked to the girl behind the glass, and then back to the doctor.

He pushed to the back of his mind the disturbed notion that Potter had known what he was getting into by agreeing to come here, and hadn't said a word.

"That . . . that won't be necessary," Draco said, shaking his head "Let's . . . keep going."

Dr. Weasley granted the young man a jovial grin and clapped him on the shoulder. "Ah, good. Come, I'll introduce you."

Draco bit back a sigh. He should have known that was coming next. He couldn't maintain distance when he had to establish a rapport with her in order to connect, first. In a way, he'd hope that the unique circumstances might call for a different method.

He was so disappointed in his own presumption, it hurt.

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><p>She didn't look up as the doctor unlocked the door and stepped inside. By the footfalls entering her quarters, she could tell someone followed him in.<p>

Sighing, she set her book in her lap and kept reading and scribbling down her list of plot holes and loose ends. As she held out her free hand, she said in a weary voice, "Another blood test? You know they _always_ come back the same."

Draco was surprised by his own impulse to laugh. She had more of a handle on her situation than he'd expected.

"How are you this morning, One?"

"I'll answer that when you call me by my name."

Dr. Weasley sighed, glancing at Draco over his shoulder. "See? It's as I told you; I go through this routine with her every morning."

Her eyebrows shot up. The way the doctor explained their _routine_ indicated that he'd brought someone new. She hadn't met a new person in ages!

Setting aside her book and pen, she climbed to her feet. She carefully straightened the wrinkles in her outfit—a simple black tank and matched shorts—before looking up. Honestly, why they insisted on giving her only monochromatic ensembles was beyond her.

The new person stood behind the doctor, and she stood on the toes of her bare feet to look over his shoulder. She met a pair of clear, startled grey eyes.

"Hullo, who're you?"

Draco was just as vaguely alarmed now as he'd been upon first seeing her. Even more so now as he found himself staring into wide, upturned chestnut eyes. "I'm . . ." He shook his head, extending a hand as he stepped around Dr. Weasley. "Draco Malfoy. And you . . . don't respond to what they call you?"

"Picked up on that, did you," she quipped, tipping her head as though she was examining his hand.

"You _were_ subtle, so I couldn't be certain."

An amused half-grin tugged up a corner of her lips while she lightly shook his hand. "My name is Hermione."

For a moment, they simply stood, watching one another. The doctor cleared his throat, his head shaking.

"So, Draco Malfoy," her half-grin widened as she relinquished her hold on his fingers and shrugged. "Are you here to observe as they find new and interesting ways to kill me?"


	2. Death

**Author's Notes****:**

**1) Stating for the record—I saw the show **_**Forever**_** last week. I was unaware of the show's premise when I was first toying with the plunnie for this fic. On top of that, I heard today that the show's premise may have been ripped from a book by someone else, entirely.**

**Now, to my knowledge, one of the main characters not being able to stay dead is the**_** only**_** similarity, but I feel better putting this out there.**

**2) **_**Nights at Malfoy Manor**_** may be pulled from all sites as soon as the end of this week. The revisions on the original, novel-version are almost complete. I will keep you guys posted as best I can on this.**

**3) Another NEW plunnie has bitten (working title: **_**Wizard Theory **_**&, like **_**Mortality**_**, will be a sci fi/paranormal AU [and, this is me, so there will **_**also**_** be erotic romance ;D]). I think it best I start soon, while I'm trying to slot all existing fics into a schedule, so that I can get it up-to-speed with as little interruption to my current fics as possible.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Death

Draco watched, strangely numb as Hermione was led to the bed beside the one upon which he'd been instructed to lay. He couldn't account for how fast the day'd gone. Yet, one moment, he'd been in that . . . that pretend-flat, chatting with her under the scrutinizing eye of Dr. Weasley, the next, they were here.

Odd to think hours had simply gone by while they'd talked, but there it was.

He realized the doctor must've been waiting for him to reach some predetermined level of rapport with the girl. Now, he had all sorts of monitors hooked up to him, and he'd been given a mild sedative, to prevent him from jerking in his trance-state, and accidentally pulling himself out. To keep him from separating from her, really.

"Hey!"

Draco gave his head a shake, finding he'd gotten lost in thought—wondering how this had come upon them so quick—while staring at her. Hermione granted him an awkward little smile as she held out her arms, expectantly, technicians fussing around her to get her connected to a series of monitors, apart from Draco's.

Her eyebrows drew together and she nodded. "It's going to be okay. I mean, I'm the one dying, why are _you _the one white as a sheet?"

By her tone, he could tell she was in good spirits about the matter. Which was probably what upset him most of all.

He shrugged, his head shaking. "I'm sorry. This is just all . . . ." Draco forced a sigh. "I know this is not new to you, but it is to me. I mean . . . do you ever get scared?"

"I used to," she said, nodding again. "But there's only so many times you can resurrect before you get over the whole 'I died, now I'm back, _again_' thing."

His shoulders slumped at how lightly she took it. But then, from her perspective—having been through this probably more times than she could rightly recall—it likely didn't seem like something she needed to take seriously.

"Does it hurt?"

Hermione gave a sideways nod as she settled back against the pillow behind her. "Sometimes. Depends on the method they use. Like this," she said as she showed him the IV in her arm. "This will knock me out first, then slow my heart incrementally, until it ceases beating, entirely. You might see my body convulse, or spasm, but I won't feel a thing."

Draco was intrigued, in spite of himself. "Why do they do this to you? I mean, I understand the practicality of studying the progression of diseases, or experimental cures. It's the more . . . brutal methods I don't understand."

She blinked, yawning. The room was beginning to swim before her eyes. This man certainly seemed interested in her thoughts on things. Not that his concern wasn't a welcome change—though that young doctor, Potter, was kind to her—most of the doctors and techs only interacted with her the bare minimum to ensure she was still mentally sound.

And that they didn't get attached. God forbid they start to think of her as a person.

"For the same reason man does anything, really," she said, letting her eyelids slide shut.

Furrowing his brow, Draco could only watch her face.

"Because they _can_. I think it's just to see what I can come back from; if the type of death or level of injury affects the time it takes. They've done nearly everything but incinerate me."

He still didn't respond—how could he find anything to say to that? After all they'd put her through, she either had the most remarkable mental fortitude on the earth, or she was completely mad. And that raised an entirely other question he'd not wanted to ask before.

Just how long _had_ she been here?

Hermione could feel the soft, cool blackness rolling over her. "Because that's the one thing they think might actually be the end of me," she said in a whisper, giggling as sensation floated away from her. "They don't want to risk—to risk that until they're sure . . . ."

Draco knew this was the time to let his own eyes close; time to let go and relax, and tap into her energy before she slipped away. Yet it was difficult to shut out her face, peaceful and slumbering . . . and _dying_.

But he understood if he failed at this they would simply find that dreaded—less-questioning—_someone else_.

Heaving a weighted sigh, he forced shut his eyelids. With the aid of the sedative, achieving the necessary state came to him faster, and easier, than usual.

Darkness surrounded him, and he couldn't see Hermione. During trance, he often imagined himself suspended in the center of a vast space, devoid of light, or sound. But he could sense her; could feel the brush of her dwindling energy less than two meters from him. Delicate, as though she'd reached out to stroke a fingertip across his skin.

He latched onto that flicker, and then it blinked out. The pit of Draco's stomach twisted as he realized he'd just felt her die.

Yet, before he could recoil—before he could even draw a breath, she flickered back into existence. Only . . . her energy was separate from where he knew her physical body rested.

Curious, he reached out to touch her, his fingers coming in contact with hers, as though they both still had form. He gave a start, grateful in the back of his mind for the sedative, otherwise he might've pulled himself from his trance just now. He'd heard about spirit bodies—though he didn't often think about it, he knew he utilized one during his trances—but had never experienced an encounter with another person this way.

Another person, who was _not _tethered to her body by a chord, as all spirit bodies were supposed to be during astral projection.

He felt the tugging of Hermione lacing her fingers through his, and instantly light blinded and sound roared. Life, itself, rushed into shape around them.

The girl was nowhere to be seen as he blinked, letting his vision adjust.

"She was _just _here," he whispered, disoriented a moment.

An antechamber swam into focus around him. The wide, rough sand-colored bricks made him think of far too many dry documentaries on archeological discoveries from the Middle East.

He opened his mouth to call to her, but the sudden sense that his voice in this quiet space was unwelcome crept over him. Carved depictions of a winged woman peered at him from the walls on either side of pillared entryway.

Draco swallowed hard as his gaze shot from one carving to the other and back. He could swear they were actually _watching_ him.

Biting into his bottom lip, he moved forward, on careful, measured steps, to look out through the entryway.

The interior was similar to things he'd seen in representations of Ancient Egypt, yet _not_. But it was still all a bit familiar, as though he'd glimpsed it all somewhere, before. In a museum, perhaps?

A woman stood, her back to him, as she fussed with something on an altar before her. The wild mane of hair reminded him of Hermione, but the locks were longer and darker. And the skin he could see, exposed on her shoulder and arms by the dress she wore was darker as well—a sun-kissed bronze tone.

Poor Hermione hadn't been in the actual sun in so long she was paler than Draco, himself, and_ that_ was a good trick.

He swallowed again, willing himself to step into the main chamber. The glinting fabric of her dress caught his eye, capturing his attention as he continued forward. Gold, shimmering, but fluid, and designed to resemble feathers; it fell loose around her slender form, belted tightly at the waist by a red sash.

She side-stepped, and he saw now that she had been lighting something ablaze in an ornate, ceramic dish. He could detect a sweet, but unfamiliar herbal scent—some sort of incense, perhaps—before the plumes of smoke winding through the air reached him.

"I know it was your job," she said, the voice definitely _hers'_. "But . . . I honestly didn't expect you to succeed."

Draco's brow furrowed as his gaze roved over her from the back of her head to her sandaled heels. "Hermione?"

She pivoted to face him and his jaw dropped. Those wide chestnut eyes, that small but perfect mouth, the little ski-slope nose. This was certainly the same girl he'd wasted the day speaking to. Kohl ringed her eyes, and a delicate gold headdress wound her forehead, disappearing into her wild, dark hair.

"Yes," she said simply.

Draco shook his head, his confusion taking the wind out of him for a moment. Holding up his palms, he shook his head. "I . . . I need a minute."

He heard a short, understanding giggle from her as he lowered himself to sit on the temple floor. The shifting of the gold fabric was audible, on par with the light step of her sandal-clad feet, as she stepped close, sitting on her heels before him.

"I thought you couldn't remember what happened to you while you're dead."

Her eyebrows shot up nearly high enough to touch her headdress. "Oh, you thought . . . ?" She laughed again, a light, carefree sound in the emptiness of the temple's main chamber.

"Well, you're right. I don't remember . . . when I'm alive," she concluded with half-shrug. "When I'm dead, I remember_ everything_."

Draco's brows drew upward, and he wondered if this was what going mad felt like, as she continued explaining in an almost merry way.

"I remember what happened while I was alive, while I was dead_ before_. Everything."

"So what is this place? And how do you keep coming back to life?"

Sighing, her shoulders drooped a bit as she looked about. "A temple to my mother. The _first_ temple to her, actually."

Draco forced a gulp, a million questions bombarding him, yet he had no idea what to ask. "Time is linear," he said, wetting suddenly parched lips with the tip of his tongue, "the astral plane exists outside of time. When does this temple exist?"

"You mean that cliché question of every time-traveler on the telly: when are we?"

He nodded, his gaze roving over her, once more. How odd it seemed that she looked so . . . natural this way. As though he now somehow found the golden-brown hair and fair skin of her physical body simply _not-her_.

"Always. This temple exists always. Though, if you're asking does it still exist in the physical world, yes. But it's location . . ." she trailed off, shaking her head and frowning.

"Lost to the ages, got it." He rose up a bit, mirroring her position. "Who, exactly, is your mother?"

"Not my biological mother, understand. She's as human as you. It's complicated, and—" She held up a gold-ringed hand, ornate bangles of the same precious metal clinking against each other. Hermione looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed sharply.

He followed her gaze. Over the bowl of incense, a dark, glittering shape hovered. Globby, and mostly formless, like a cloud, but with obvious substance.

Hermione spoke, her voice hard and commanding. The words were lost on him, utterly. Strange, yet fluid. Single-syllables, pronounced forcefully.

He found if he concentrated on her intent, on the emotion ebbing from her, the words slowly became understandable in his mind.

"_I do not travel with you this day_," she said, though he wasn't certain if she was angry, or if the harshness of her tone was a show of dominance. "_Go about your duties. Now_."

The dark mass grumbled, like thunder roaring in the distance, and Hermione shot to her feel, whirling to face it fully. "_You do not rule me. I rule you. Forget that and face my mother's wrath!_"

With another roaring grumble—Draco could swear the thing actually sounded disappointed—the shape folded inward, making itself smaller and smaller, until it vanished with a sound like the chime of a bell.

"What the bloody hell was that?" He asked as he climbed to his feet, as well.

Sighing, she turned toward him, meeting his gaze. "Death."

Draco's eyes grew so wide, so fast, he was surprised they didn't fall from his skull. "You just yelled at _Death_?"

She nodded. "One of them, sure. They keep forgetting they can't tell me what to do," she said, mild irritation edging her voice. "_They_ are why it always takes me a while to resurrect. They're very busy entities, you know."

"Right, right, of course," Draco gave a numb and hurried nod.

She could command Death? And referred to them in plural? Although, if Death _was_ an actual entity, then he supposed having many made sense, given how _very_ many living things existed.

Putting aside how completely mad this entire episode was proving, he realized_ this_ was probably why she was able to maintain her sanity, despite how many times she'd died and returned.

"Um, hang on now, that is the _second_ time you've mentioned your _mother._ Who is she?"

Hermione smiled sadly, shifting her gaze to lock on another depiction of the winged woman. He noticed now that the woman was adorned by the same headdress and jewelry Hermione wore now. Was that an ankh in her hand? Ankhs were the symbol for life in nearly every culture where they appeared, weren't they?

Life eternal, according to some, he thought with a jolt.

"I can't tell you her name, yet." She swallowed, lowering her eyes to the toes of her sandals a moment. "You have to earn her trust, first."

"Earn her . . ." he glanced from the girl to the statue, and back. "How do I do that?" He was now more curious than confused. After all, he'd come this far, might as well go with the flow.

Wearing that sad smile once more, she stepped close to him. Bracing a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, she stood on her toes, leaning close to whisper in his ear.

He shivered, a breath rushing out of him at the feel of her lips brushing his skin as she spoke.

"Let them burn me."

* * *

><p>Draco jerked awake, blinking rapidly as he bolted up in the bed. He made frantic grabs at the wires dangling from him before a tech hurried over and began unhooking the electrodes.<p>

He looked over to Hermione's bed, finding it already vacant. "Wh—where is she? She's already back? How long was I—?"

"Mr. Malfoy, you certainly are excitable, aren't you?" Dr. Weasley's jovial chuckle accompanied his words as the ginger-haired man stepped into the room.

The doctor pulled up a chair and sat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "How do you feel? Should I have someone fetch you some water?"

After catching his breath, Draco realized he felt_ fine_. Rested, calm . . . . How odd.

He ignored that he could still feel the soft press of her lips against his ear. By her own words, she wouldn't recall it now, anyway.

"No, I'm actually perfect," the young man said, a bit startled as he swung his legs over the side of the bed to plant his feet on the floor.

"So, tell me." The doctor smiled brightly. "Were you able to learn how she does it?"

"Yes, um you were correct. Her ability is metaphysical in nature." Frowning thoughtfully, he decided to keep the specifics to himself. "That's why she doesn't exhibit any sort of detrimental effects to her psyche."

"Can the ability be replicated?"

Instantly, everything Draco hadn't quite understood—or, more precisely, everything he hadn't allowed himself to understand—fell into place. Of course they wanted to replicate her inability to die! There were loads of science fiction films and books about unkillable soldiers, though he had no idea how anyone could possibly think that a good idea.

The point of those stories was that playing God always backfires, not _hey, humanity, go out and find a way to make this happen!_

Draco shook his head, forcing the more frivolous thoughts away. Hermione'd said they had done just about everything but incinerate her. They'd used her deaths to solve crimes, and cure diseases, and now . . . .

_Because that's the one thing they think might actually be the end of me, _she'd said._ They don't want to risk—to risk that until they're sure . . . ._

Until they're sure there's nothing left to gain from her, he thought, feeling sick.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco gave himself a shake, understanding that he'd lapsed into silence. "Oh," he cleared his throat. "Right, sorry, still—still a bit out of it, I guess."

"Of course. Do you need me to repeat the question?"

He held the doctor's gaze for a long moment. "No," he said, his tone clear, simple. _Let them burn me_, she'd said. "No, the effects cannot be replicated."

Dr. Weasley sat back, sighing heavily.

"No one will ever be able to do what she does."

"I see." The doctor stood, clamping a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Well, thank you very much for your assistance today, Mr. Malfoy. When you're ready to leave, simply knock on the door, and you'll be escorted to the public access area. You'll find payment for your services has already been rendered."

Draco stared at the exit for a long while after the doctor left. With rare exception, he could never recall a time he'd actually given a damn about someone else—perhaps the unusual circumstances were to blame—yet he sat wondering if he'd done the right thing.

* * *

><p>Dr. Weasley hunched over his desk, rubbing his temples with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. The phone rang, and he punched the button for the speaker.<p>

"Yes?"

"Mr. Malfoy has exited the premises, sir."

"Thank you, Argus." The doctor held in a weary, exasperated breath. _Honestly_, he thought, _nearly_ _ten years of work, and it ends like this_. "Tell Sybill to prepare a lethal injection, and have Rubeus prepare the incinerator."

The instructions were followed by a brief pause that surprised Dr. Weasley little; they _all_ knew what this was what it would come to, eventually.

"Right away, sir."

* * *

><p>Harry started awake as one of the technicians—old cranky bastard—came barging through the break room to grab something out of one of the cabinets. "Dammit, Filch," he rumbled, rubbing a fist against his eyes beneath his glasses.<p>

The old man shook his head, grumping about something or other. "Sorry, Doctor Potter. In a bit of a hurry. Oh," Argus Filch turned on a heel, facing the young man. "If you want to say good bye to One, now would be the time."

Suddenly, Harry was on his feet, wide awake. "What?"

Filch shrugged, making a throat-cutting gesture. "Orders from _below_."

As the elderly curmudgeon vanished out the door—honestly, why they kept him around was anyone's guess—Harry's legs gave out from under him and he found himself back in his seat. This was exactly what he was hoping to stop, or at least delay, by bringing in Draco.

He propped an elbow on the table and let his face fall into his hand. How the bloody hell was he going to save Hermione, now?


	3. Burn

**My other** **_HP _****Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered_ (Dramione [**One-Shot**, Lemon])

_Dame Blanche_(Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Hints of Drarry [PwP; _only_on AFF. net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact_(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism_ (Draco/Hermione/Blaise [PwP; _only_ on AFF. net])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_(Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me_ (Dramione/Scormione [18 yr. old Scorpius])

**NEW!**_ The Lestrange Girl_ ([AU] Dramione)

_Tourniquet_ (Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

_Wizard Theory_ ([AU] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry])

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

Burn

Hermione glanced up from her book at the sound of her door opening. "Dr. Potter," she said with a smile. Yet, as he drew close, she noticed that those warm, friendly green eyes—the ones that were perhaps the first kind thing she could recall in this place—were wide just now. Sad and frightened, she thought.

Her face fell as he knelt before her. She'd never seen him look so serious. "What is it?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but immediately closed it again. He couldn't bring himself to say the words. He couldn't tell her they were about to _actually_ kill her.

But he wanted to say goodbye to her, all the same.

"I . . . ." He shook his head, smiling grimly. "I'm sorry my friend Draco wasn't able to help you."

She smiled again, albeit it a smaller, mildly confused expression this time. "Oh, he's a friend of yours? Well, no, seems nothing changed after he did . . . whatever it was he did. But still, I was glad to have met him. He seemed nice."

Harry burst out laughing in spite of himself. "Draco was nice to you? That's a first."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up, and laughed, as well. "Maybe the situation here made him act different. Tends to off-set people, after all."

"I'm glad he was." He reached out, catching one of her hands in his. "Listen, Hermione," he was always careful to use her chosen name, "I just . . . I just wanted to say how sorry I am that there isn't more I can do for you."

"Oh," she waved a dismissive hand, her shoulders drooping, "that's not your fault, is it? You've been kind to me, that's more than any of the others have bothered with."

A frown tugged the corners of his mouth downward. She'd always been so accepting of her circumstances, and in a way that made it all harder. And it wasn't that the girl didn't have a fighting spirit, she did—she showed it in small ways—Harry always felt she simply knew this was a fight she would never have won.

And even if she _had_ fought, now it would all be over, anyway.

Those brown eyes were staring up at him, crinkled at the corners. A _real_ smile. Sad that he'd learned so much about how to tell the real expressions from the fake since coming to this laboratory.

No, no, he couldn't do it. He couldn't leave this room without telling her what was about to happen.

Using his hand on hers to tug her close, Harry dropped his voice to a whisper. "Hermione, listen, the reason I'm here is—"

The sound of the door opening cut short his words.

"Dr. Potter, hullo. I didn't realize you were here."

Harry's shoulders bunched, understanding his time was up. Patting Hermione's hand, he relinquished his hold and stood. Turning, he faced Dr. Weasley.

"Sort of felt compelled to come see her. Say a few _kind_ words."

Weasley's eyelids fluttered as he cast a brief glance toward the ceiling. "Look, Potter, I'm no more pleased by the outcome than you."

Harry's expression pinched. Stepping closer he said in a low voice, "You should at least tell her."

As Harry walked to the door, Weasley's voice followed him. "It's a good thing for our field that not everyone's as soft-hearted as you. We'd get nothing done."

"Right," Harry spat sourly, "'cause God forbid anyone treat her like she's human. You _hate_ that."

Whatever Dr. Weasley might've said in reply was cut off by the door sliding closed behind Harry.

Hermione gave the ginger-haired doctor a quizzical look. "What was that all about?"

"Apologies, One. That's not for you to know." He clasped his hands before him. "Come along, you're due for another study."

Hermione groaned as she climbed to her feet. "We_ just _did one."

Dr. Weasley watched the back of her head for a moment as she walked in front of him, his expression grim. "This one will be quick. I promise."

* * *

><p>Draco bolted up in the chair. He'd not realized he'd drifted off—that business with following Hermione must've drained him more than he'd thought.<p>

Swallowing hard, he looked around his darkened flat. What had woken him?

He wiped a hand down his face and thought back on what he'd been dreaming. Heat . . . he remembered flickering light . . . .

_Let them burn me._

"Hermione," he said, shooting out of the chair and snatching up his phone.

* * *

><p>Harry was surprised to see Draco's number pop up on his phone. Rubbing his free hand over his arm as he stood outside the facility, he answered. "Malfoy?"<p>

"Potter, did they incinerate Hermione's body?"

"How did you—"

Draco gave an exasperated eye-roll as he grabbed his jacket and car keys. "Because she _told_ me to let them."

"What?"

"I don't understand it, either. Where are you?"

Harry swallowed hard, glancing around the lot. "I'm in the back lot, waiting."

"Waiting?"

"Once they verify that the body has been fully incinerated, they've . . . well, they've agreed to let me give her a proper burial."

Again, Hermione's voice whispering in his ear as her lips brushed his ear echoed back to him. _Let them burn me._

"I think . . . I think she needed that to happen."

Harry spared a moment to look at the phone as though he didn't recognize the device. "What?"

"Again, don't understand it myself. Just don't do _anything _with the ashes. Take them to that park we used to go to."

"Strange time for nostalgia."

"Shut it. There's lots of wooded areas there, good cover. If this is going to go the way I think it is, we'll need it."

Harry had an odd feeling suddenly of what Draco_ thought_ might happen.

"But make it fast. You want to be well away from that place."

Draco hung up, but as he was nearly at the door, he thought better on it. Jogging back to his bedroom, he snatched a t-shirt and sweats. He was lean, so his clothes shouldn't be _too_ large.

Nodding to himself, he grabbed a bag and stuffed it with the clothes, the carton of orange juice from his icebox and several health bars.

If nothing happened, they were still going to need fuel to stand about waiting all night.

* * *

><p>Harry shook his head, holding the metal box with her ashes at the park entrance as Draco pulled up. When his ex got out, a bag full of God only knew what in hand, Harry's eyebrows lifted.<p>

"Going camping, are we?"

"Just stow the snark and listen," Draco said, his voice stern. As he led Harry into the park and toward the most thickly wooded spot he could think of, he explained exactly what had transpired when he'd followed Hermione during her death.

"So that's really what it is, then?" Harry asked while he watched Draco pull the clothes out of the bag.

"I think so."

Again, Harry watched, his heart sinking as Draco took the metal box from him. Watched as he opened it and sprinkled out her ashes in a careful, collected pile.

"Pray there's not a gust right now." Harry ignored Draco's irritated expression. "Listen, what if you misunderstood? What if she was just tired of all this and wanted them to burn her 'cause it would finally kill her and put an end to it?"

"Suicide by laboratory? I don't think so. If that were they case, she wouldn't have reached out to me after she died in the incinerator."

For a long, quiet moment, Harry just stared at him.

"What?"

Harry shook his head. "Oh, nothing. It's just sometimes this psychic business weirds me out."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "You just spent how long working with a girl who couldn't stay dead, and _I_ weird you out?"

"Fair point."

A shifting and shuffling behind them caught their attention. Sharing a shocked glance, the two young men turned slowly.

The pile of ash swirled and stirred, as though displaced by the wind, yet the air was still. It moved and rearranged itself before lighting on the grassy earth.

"What's it doing?"

Harry forced a gulp, guessing his eyes were as wide as Draco's. "I think it's sorting itself out. Her . . . bits would've been all jumbled together."

Draco turned his head to give Potter a sour look. "Ew."

Meeting Malfoy's disturbed gaze, Harry shrugged. "Sorry, there's not really a scientific explanation for this."

An exhausted female groan met their ears. "Are you two always like this?"

They snapped their heads back around.

On the ground, in place of the ash, lay Hermione. Sitting up, she stretched, making pained noises low in the back of her throat.

She let her arms fall at her sides as her gaze darted from Harry's wide eyes, to Draco's and back. "What?"

Draco almost didn't want to say anything, but Harry elbowed him in the side. "You're naked."

Shaking his head, Harry snatched up the clothing and handed it Draco.

"Oh, right." Stepping closer to her, he held out the bundle of fabric. "Brought you these. Just . . . just in case."

She smiled, appearing completely unfazed by her current state as she accepted the clothing. "Thank you."

"So, um," he turned away as she stood to dress. If he could barely focus while she was seated, he dreaded to think how much he'd fumble if he had the full view. But Harry followed suit, so he supposed he wasn't the only one having trouble concentrating with a naked girl in front of them. "You seem rather . . . calm. Do you know what happened to you?"

"Yes." She nodded as she pulled the t-shirt over her head. "I remember it all, now. I think the incineration was something that _had _to happen."

"What, like a phoenix? Is _that_ what you are?"

Hermione laughed as she shook out the overly-long sweats and stepped into them. "Yes, like a phoenix, but _no_, that's not what I am. I'm decent now."

Draco and Harry turned back around and Hermione dropped to sit on the forest floor, once more. She rolled up the bottoms of the sweats, revealing dainty feet.

Harry pulled the bag over to her. "He brought you something, in case you're hungry."

Hermione looked into the bag and arched a brow. "Health bars? No wonder you're so skinny."

Biting his lip, Harry just barely held in a laugh while Draco scowled.

"Anyway," Draco said, determined to keep them on track. "She's the daughter of some sort of death goddess."

She frowned. "Underworld goddess, thank you very much!"

Harry's eyebrows shot up over the rims of his glasses.

For a while, Draco only watched as she foraged through the bag, before finding a bar she liked. As she unwrapped it and took a bite, he settled on his heels before her, so that sat as they had in the temple.

"Hermione, you said that if I let them burn you, your mother would trust me with her name."

The girl nodded. "She wants to trust you, because she thinks you can help me."

Once more, Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. "Help you do what?"

"Well, you remember what I told you about the location of her first temple?"

_Lost to the ages. _Technically, it wasn't what she'd told him, it was a sentence he'd completed for her. He nodded.

"Well, you're going to help me find it."

"I'm going to _what_?"

Hermione's eyebrows drew together. "She needs me to find it, because there's something there that I need to protect myself."

Harry spoke from over Draco's shoulder—giving the pale-haired young man a start, he'd not realized Potter had crouched down behind him. "Protect yourself from what?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. The message was vague, but danger is coming, and the only way to protect myself is to find that place."

"So I'm just supposed to go with you and start poking about the sand in the Middle East to find some long-lost temple?"

Waiting until she'd chewed and swallowed another mouthful of the strawberry yogurt bar she'd selected, she smiled and winked. "Don't have anything more interesting planned, do you?"

"Well, hey now, I . . . ." Shoulders slumping, he looked over his shoulder at Potter. "You know what? She's right, I really don't."

Harry dropped his head, chuckling.

Draco scowled, again. "All right," he said with a sigh as he raked his fingers through his hair, "so you said that you'd be able to tell me your mother's name?"

Hermione nodded, clearing her throat. Dropping her voice to a whisper only loud enough for them to hear because of how close they were, she said, "Ereshkigal."

Draco snapped backward so fast he nearly collided with Harry. Grey eyes wide, he held Hermione's bewildered gaze.

"Bloody hell, mate," Harry snapped, pushing Draco back into place. "What was that all about?"

"I know that name."

She gave him a questioning look.

"How?" Harry asked, shifting around so he could look at both of their faces.

"My father, he was into all this stuff. Ancient cultures and the like, was a hobby. I don't remember much, but now I know what that temple seemed familiar."

Harry rolled his eyes, too familiar with Malfoy's tone. "You're holding something back."

Drawing a breath and letting it out slowly, Draco knew he didn't have to try very hard to remember. He'd been ten years old, old enough to recall a bit clearly. "Ereshkigal is the Sumerian goddess of the underworld. And I know this because she was the last thing my father was researching before he disappeared."

Harry's gaze shot to Hermione's face instantly, uncertain if it was comforting or alarming that she was just as surprised by this information as he.


	4. Sleep

**UPDATE NOTICE****:**

_**Mortality**_** and **_**Lessons in Hedonism**_** are the LAST fics from the 'original list' which need to reach chapter 5 before I start updating the entire list on a cycle. I will post the update order on my profile page, so while there won't be set dates, you will be able to tell what fic will update next based on the list, and the fic dates.**

* * *

><p><strong>Also, this chapter has a bit more humor than we've seen from the story thus far. I like little breaks of levity in my dark fics ;)<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>My other <span>**_**H****P**_** Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered _(Dramione [**One-Shot**, lemon])

_Dame Blanche_ (Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])

**NEW! **_Displacement_ (Dramione/Scorose)

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Drarry [PwP; _only_ on AFF. net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact _(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism _(Draco-Hermione-Blaise [PwP; _only_ on AFF. net])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood _([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me_ (Dramione/Scormione [18 yr. old Scorpius])

_The Lestrange Girl _([AU] Dramione)

_The Meekdragon Legacy _(Dramione [possible Harmione])

_Tourniquet _(Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

_Wizard Theory _([AU] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

Sleep

Hermione was quiet as Draco drove back to his flat. Harry was following in his own car, perhaps ten minutes behind them, as he—knowing what Draco's fridge and cupboards looked like—was stopping to grab the girl some _real food_. It made Draco wonder how well they'd fed her at the laboratory. Or perhaps how poorly, since nutrition for someone like here clearly wasn't a necessary concern.

He darted his gaze toward her every few seconds, though he kept his face forward, watching her from the corner of his eye. Putting her in the car had been troubling, as she'd been puzzled by her seat belt, had started rather violently at the sound of the engine roaring to life, and was now peering out the window, her nose and palms pressed to the glass at all the sights zipping past them.

He wasn't certain if this was a mark of how long they'd held her, or if something during her strangely phoenix-like awakening had caused that older part of her soul—the part accustomed to temples, and ceremonial offerings, and telling Death entities what-for—to come to the foreground of her cognitive processes.

"So," she said after such a long patch of silence that Draco was surprised he didn't jump at the sudden sound of her voice, "why was your father researching Ereshkigal?"

It was hardly as though he wanted to think about his father, but then after what he'd told her and Potter in the park, he'd known there was no avoiding it. "He was fascinated with the ancient world, and Sumer simply is _the_ oldest of the ancient civilized cultures. I don't remember much, as I said I was only about ten when he . . . ."

Hermione bit her lip, instantly upset with herself for asking. She turned her head, watching Draco's expression in the shifting light through the windshield. Perhaps she should have let this come out naturally, somehow, rather than prying. But there _was_ a reason behind her question.

"When he just wasn't there, anymore. But I _think_—if I recall correctly—he was fascinated with her because, unlike her sister Ishtar, he felt it was never clear in the myths whether Ereshkigal was a villain or a victim."

She cringed at the mention of Ishtar, but shook her head, once more fixing her gaze out the window.

Her reaction hadn't escaped his notice. He didn't recall the stories his father poured over well enough to know if that could be result of something between the goddess-sisters.

"You don't like Ishtar, then?"

Hermione furrowed her brow as she thought on that. Or tried to. She was starting to get sleepy. Apparently coming back from incineration could take a lot out of a girl.

"Actually," she said, fighting a yawn, "I don't think I know very much about her, at all. It was just this sort of gut reaction, I suppose."

Hearing her strangled words, he couldn't help a chuckle. "We're almost there."

Draco could tell she was struggling to keep her eyes open, even as he pulled up in front of his complex. He found himself wondering what it must be like for her; if there was some great, exhaustive relief in knowing she could fall asleep now and not worry about waking to find out she had this experiment, or that type of death awaiting her.

He held in a grim frown as he turned off the engine. If he and Potter hadn't gotten her ashes away from that awful facility when they had, she might've been reborn right there, mixed in with the laboratory refuse.

The staff might've found her. Might've realized she was _truly _undying. What horrible things might they have devised for her _then?_

Hermione blinked tiredly, giving herself a shake when Draco opened the passenger-side door. She looked up, deeply amused to find him trying to give an encouraging smile. Trying and failing, of course, but she was beginning to understand that he wasn't one accustomed to showing kindness. That he was trying at all—that it was for sake—warmed her.

For a strained moment, she only stared up at him. Maybe she was still dazed from her ordeal? Either way, Draco was beginning to feel a bit unsettled by it. He couldn't help the weighty sensation he got from her . . . . Like she _trusted_ him. Poor girl obviously couldn't read people very well, could she?

Sighing, he held out a hand to help her from the car. "C'mon, then."

Dropping her gaze to his outstretched fingers, she placed her hand in his and let him pull her to stand. The world spun around her for the briefest second, and she swayed on her feet.

"Whoa," he said, catching her around the waist and steadying her. "I've got you."

Hazy chestnut eyes met his. He hadn't realized how close he'd pulled her, how near she'd end up when he set her standing evenly. Her face upturned, he could feel her breath against the underside of his jaw—yes, _that_ close.

She furrowed her brow. Her expression thoughtful, she reached up to trace the tips of her fingers along his cheek.

Draco found that he could only stare back at her all the while. For a single, flickering heartbeat, he found himself wondering if she'd ever even been kissed.

Hermione's mouth lifted at the corners in a questioning smile. She dragged her fingers over his chin, lowering her gaze to watch their movement across his skin.

"You are such an odd man," she said in a whisper.

He chuckled in spite of himself. "Oh, sure. Girl who's come back from the dead more times than she can remember, and _I'm_ the odd one?"

Meeting his gaze once more, she managed an affronted expression. "Well . . . okay, sure, I guess you have a point. I suppose we make a very strange pair, then."

He smirked. "I suppose we do."

Neither of them had even heard the other car pull up. Harry sighed, laughing quietly and shaking his head as he grabbed the bags and got out. Sure, he was playing errand boy while Malfoy was the one who was probably going to get to snog the girl they'd rescued. Figured.

He'd known where that was headed the moment Hermione said Malfoy'd been nice to her, hadn't he?

"All right, you two. Let's get indoors, shall we?"

Harry held in a laugh at how they both jumped at the sound of his voice.

Draco cleared his throat and took half a step back from her. "Right, sorry. This way."

Harry's eyebrows shot up when Draco took Hermione's hand to lead her to the door. It was on the tip of his tongue to sass Draco about the gesture, but then he noticed the girl was a bit wobbly on her feet, so he decided he'd graciously withhold his snark this time.

* * *

><p>She picked and fussed at the food Harry presented, mostly because she didn't know what half of it was. Draco had thought sure the man had lost his mind when he unloaded enough food to stock the fridge and cupboards for a few days.<p>

Hermione picked up a can, turning it this way and that. "Cheese ravioli?" she couldn't help a sneer as she read the label. "Is this actually any good?"

Harry chuckled as he rummaged about Draco's kitchen to set out a fork and a bowl. "It's actually one of my favorite quick-meals. You've had a really long day and you're exhausted, I thought something fast so you can get to sleep sooner was the best option. For tonight, anyway."

Nodding, she toyed with the pull-ring top before managing to pry it open. Setting aside the lid, she brought the can close to her nose, sniffing it—Draco didn't know if they oddly feline gesture was adorable or disturbing—before she grabbed the fork.

"No, no, no!" Harry snatched the can from her hands.

Draco bit his fist to keep from laughing aloud at the look she gave Harry. It was a gloriously hilarious twisting of her features that was somewhere between bewilderment and hunger-induced fury.

"You have to heat it first," Harry explained gently as he dumped the contents into the bowl and put it in the microwave. "You eat it straight from the can you could make yourself sick."

"It's not like we've got to worry about losing her to food poisoning, is it?" Draco asked, arching a brow.

Harry met those grey eyes, his expression pinched. "She can still become nauseated. I don't fancy the idea of sitting up the night, tending an immortal with a belly-ache, do you?"

"Point taken."

Hermione scowled, her gaze on the microwave, as though she didn't hear either of them. "But I'm hungry _now._"

Gaze darting from her face to the timer on the door panel and back, Harry tried to be reassuring—he knew well that she wasn't accustomed to having to wait for her food. "It's just another minute."

Biting hard into her bottom lip, she folded her arms under her breasts and sat back. Her attention darted about the room as silence fell between the three of them.

She jumped when the microwave beeped, and Draco found himself in utter disbelief that she was unfamiliar with the appliance. But then he recalled his own thought from the car. Perhaps understanding what she was and reconnecting with that alien part of herself was pushing away modern understandings.

Or she simply didn't recall it because she'd been locked up like a laboratory mouse for more of her life than he'd like to imagine.

"Here," Harry said, still soothing in his tone as he set the food in front of her. "Just be careful, okay? It's hot."

She beamed at him, that agitated energy of hers dissolving instantly. "I'll be careful. Thank you, Dr. Potter."

Harry winced, shaking his head. "Please, from now on, it's Harry, okay."

Pausing in the midst of blowing cool air on a piece of ravioli, she smiled again and nodded. "Harry."

Draco pulled Harry aside by his elbow. "What does she normally eat, anyway?"

Potter shrugged. "Well, she probably could've eaten literally anything, but everything was fresh and specially prepared for her to be of optimal nutritional value."

"Of course it was," Draco said, sighing. No wonder she'd looked at the pre-packaged goods like she'd never seen them before—she probably couldn't remember a time when she actually had. "Wait, so how did she recognize the health bars before reading the labels?"

"Oh, well, crazy laboratory hours leads to laboratory workers eating what they can grab from the vending machine, doesn't it? She's seen those before. And crisps." He nodded, looking thoughtful. "She always wanted to try them, but no one was allowed to let her. Damn, should've grabbed her a bag."

For a long moment, they simply watched her eating. Draco had never seen anyone concentrate quite so hard on a bowl of questionably-edible food, before.

She looked up, her eyes wide and her mouth ringed with orange from the tomato sauce. "What?"

Harry grinned, but dropped his gaze. "I should go."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she realized his intent. "You're not going with us?"

His shoulders slumped as he looked up at her again. "Hermione . . . ." He came back to the table and sat down, facing her. "How can I? If I left with your ashes, and if I just don't return, they'll realize they made a mistake. They'll come looking for you."

She spun the fork in the near-empty dish as she said, "I didn't mean to just_ never_ go back there. But you could formally leave, couldn't you? Use their treatment of me, and their decision to terminate me as an excuse."

The girl said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. And as Harry thought on it, he realized that it _was_.

"Resign because recent events have caused me to realize I have moral objections that could compromise my work within the facility," Harry stated, needing the clarifying re-statement for himself.

"Exactly." She beamed and went back to what was left of her food.

"And come poke about the desert with you two?"

She nodded.

Draco arched a brow. "Don't have anything more interesting planned, do you?"

Harry feigned a sour expression as Hermione giggled around her last bite of ravioli.

* * *

><p>When Draco stepped from the bathroom, in a fresh tank and sweats, he found Harry passed out on the sofa. He scowled, knowing what he'd find in the bed before he turned to look.<p>

Pivoting on a heel he dragged his gaze across the room. Sure enough, Hermione was curled up under the blankets. Sighing, he quietly made his way to the bed. At least she'd had the decency to leave him a pillow.

Yet as he grabbed it, her hand shot out, holding it in place.

His scowl only hardened. He was exhausted, too, and in no mood for amusing her. "Hermione, let go. I'd like to get some sleep, you know."

"I know," she said, rubbing her cheek against the pillow beneath her head, but not opening her eyes. "Sleep here."

His eyebrows shot up. She couldn't be serious.

"We're going to be stuck together quite a while, we may need to get used to being in close quarters."

He swallowed hard, realizing she was right. Fine, it was only sleep, after all.

"All right, Hermione, you win," he said, forcing a yawn to emphasize that he was only caving because of how very tired he was.

She still didn't open her eyes, but she tugged the half-cocooned blankets out from under herself and pulled them back for him.

"I'm not trying to win," she whispered, wary of waking Harry as Draco got into the bed. "It's simply a matter of understanding our circumstances."

Tucking one arm beneath his pillow, he turned his head to look at her. Her expression was so serene, he wondered if she wasn't somehow holding this conversation in her sleep.

"The circumstances of being roped into taking off on some Indiana-Jones-style adventure with an immortal woman I know next-to-nothing about?"

Then her expression changed ever so slightly as her brow furrowed. He guessed she probably didn't have the foggiest idea who Indiana Jones was.

"I'm talking about how we're fated to be here together."

That caught his weary mind's attention. "Fated?" His eyebrows lifted and his gaze traced her features. "What do you mean?"

She gave a half-shrug, but otherwise didn't move. "Your father disappeared while researching Ereshkigal. Harry and your father have _nothing_ to do with one another, yet Harry ends up leading you to me, a girl who's spirit-Mother just so happens to _be _Ereshkigal? How do you explain _that_, if not for fate?"

Draco couldn't find a response for her words. They made too much sense.

Eventually—after who knew how long puzzling over the spectacularly long day's events—he drifted off. His gaze was still on her face as his eyelids fell.


	5. Change

**So, here is the FIFTH CHAPTER of ****_Mortality_****, and as I posted the 5****th**** chapter of ****_Lessons in Hedonism _on Tuesday evening****, that means that updates to all fics will resume. I will try to update each story as quick as possible, but given the sheer number of fics I have, I would say expect for individual fics roughly every two weeks. The order in which the updates will occur is posted to my profile page. Thank you everyone for being so patient and understanding about this.**

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><p><span><strong>Notes about this chapter<strong>**:**

**1- Yes, it did occur to me ****_after _****writing****the shop scene that it could be viewed as reminiscent of the scene in Pretty Woman, didn't intend it that way. Like, seriously, I've watched that film once in my life and it was well over 10 years ago.**

**2- YES, that character ****_had_**** to be Umbridge, 'cause who else deserves being made to feel like a terrible human being?**

**3- I loved ****_Splash_**** growing up.**

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><p><span><strong>My other<strong> **_HP_** **Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered_(Dramione [**one-shot**, lemon])

_Dame Blanche_ (Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])

_Displacement_ (Dramione/Scorose)

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Drarry [PwP; _**only**_**on AFF. net**])

_Eros_ ([DARK AU] Scorose)

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact_(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism_(Draco-Hermione-Blaise [PwP; _**only**_**on AFF. net**])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me_ (Dramione/Scormione [18 yr. old Scorpius])

The Lestrange Girl ([AU] Dramione)

_The Meekdragon Legacy_ (Dramione [possible Harmione])

_Tourniquet_(Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

_Wizard Theory_([AU] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

Change

It became obvious, rather fast, that despite knowing their goal, none of the three had the foggiest idea what to do the next few days. Their worlds had changed from that first night, but no one quite knew how to feel about their new situation.

Hermione was free, Harry was jobless, and Draco suddenly found himself with two houseguests. Houseguests with whom he was supposed to go on some half-witted excursion to the Middle East.

_Fun_.

Now Harry and Draco stood outside a women's clothing shop, neither of their expressions terribly happy as they sipped coffee from paper cups.

"You know," Draco said, shaking his head, "one of us should probably be in there with her, supervising or something."

Harry merely looked at him and arched a brow over the wire rims of his glasses.

The expectant expression nearly made Draco choke on his coffee. "Wha—? Why me? This was _your _idea, thanks very much."

"I know."

Draco spoke through clenched teeth as he went on, "She _can't _keep wearing my spare clothes, she needs things of her own, you said."

"I did."

"So why am I the one getting the face?"

Shrugging, Harry lifted his cup to his lips to hide a grin as he said, "Because _you're_ the one funding her shopping spree."

Rolling his eyes, Draco pushed off from the wall against which he'd been leaning and strolled into the shop. Honestly, they had more important tasks to handle, didn't they? Like planning the actual trip; they were planning on combing a bloody desert on foot, for pity's sake. Getting supplies should be the first thing on their To-Do list. He imagined it would be akin to camping . . . only without the trees, and shade, and brooks. And of course _with _the risks of severe dehydration, heat exhaustion, and freezing to death once the sun set.

Pausing a moment, he let his eyes drift closed as his bit hard into his bottom lip. All right, so perhaps it wasn't best to think on all that just now_. One aneurysm at a time_, he cautioned himself with a shake of his head.

He moved through the shop, scanning for a head of bushy, brown hair as he went. What he found was a very surprised looking pair of chestnut eyes staring up at him from a cushy armchair as salesgirls bustled around the decidedly innocuous-looking daughter of a death-goddess.

As he drew close, he couldn't help whispering, "What did you do?"

She watched the flurry of activity in bewilderment. "I've no idea what happened! I mentioned that I was here with my friend Draco. And the manager said 'Draco _Malfoy_?' So I said yes, then suddenly I was shoved into this chair and . . . ." Hermione glanced about, dropping her voice so low he only just heard her. "They keep bringing me things! I don't know what to do."

Draco's shoulders slumped and he slapped his free hand against his forehead. "I should've realized." Groaning, he dropped his hand and looked about for the manager as he went on, "my mother fancies this shop, 's why it was the first place that came to mind. I just . . . guess I forgot how much she usually spends here."

Hermione's eyebrows drew together. "So they're being terrifyingly nice to me because they like your mum?"

"Probably more that they like her seemingly magical checkbook."

She arched a brow. "Seemingly magical?"

He nodded, giving a small, but forced smile and a curt nod as he finally caught the manager's gaze. "No matter how much she spends, there's _always_ more. I swear, stop in here with your mum when you're a kid, and they _never _forget your face."

The woman—salt-and-pepper-haired, in her early 50's, painstakingly groomed from head-to-toe, and clad in a nauseating amount of pink—immediately sidled out from behind the counter. Her pleasant façade slipped just a bit each time she stopped to shoo one of the shop girls out of her way.

Hermione furrowed her brow as she watched the woman. She could swear she felt Draco bristling.

"Mr. Malfoy! How lovely to see you!"

Draco kept that tiny smile plastered right where it was. "Mrs. Umbridge."

"Is your mother here with you?" She craned her neck, peering behind the young man.

"No, sorry. Just here treating my friend, is all."

"Oh," the older woman cooed with feigned sweetness as she flicked a glance at Hermione, "yes, your friend."

She stepped carefully toward Draco and leaned in, dropping her voice—only not enough for Hermione to _not_ hear her words. "I am not certain how to put this delicately, but are you certain . . . our merchandise is a proper fit for her?"

He locked eyes with the round, overly-perfumed woman. He'd realized Hermione was going to get looks coming into a shop like this in a t-shirt and cuffed-up jeans, but he'd also thought her flashing a platinum credit card in their faces would be enough to stifle their asinine judgments—for all _they_ knew, she was a socialite traveling incognito.

"You'll have to excuse her appearance," he was running off at the mouth with the first guilt-inducing fib he could think of, "she was in an accident a few months ago. Lost her parents, so tragic, don't you think? She was in a coma until a few days ago. Now that the hospital finally released her, I thought she should have some new things so she doesn't have to see the _old_ ones that would remind her of what she lost."

Draco felt a twisted sort of joy in the way her smug face slowly crumbled. He caught Hermione's surprised gaze over the woman's shoulder and nodded encouragingly, hoping she understood to go along with the ruse.

On cue, the girl pulled her legs up on the chair and wrapped her arms around them. Biting her bottom lip, she stared at the back of the manager's head, with sad, wide eyes.

He was almost startled by the instantaneous transformation, but it had the desired effect. The salesgirls were stopping to watch the scene play out. They made sympathetic whimpering sounds and whispered amongst each other as they pointed from Hermione to their manager.

"But," he said, shrugging and stepping around the woman to hold an expectant hand out toward Hermione, "if you'd prefer we refurnish a young woman's wardrobe elsewhere . . . ."

Mrs. Umbridge sputtered as Hermione placed her lightly shaking hand into Draco's and made a visible effort to push herself out of the chair.

"No, no, no! Of—of course that isn't what I meant. Please, do sit."

He uttered a dull _hmph, _but looked to Hermione. "Well, it's up to you. Do you want to stay?"

Shaking her head, she trained her gaze on the floor. "I don't know. But I'm . . . I'm just so tired from all the walking we've done already, I don't know if I have the strength to go somewhere else after this."

Immediately a few of the girls came over, ushering Hermione back to the chair. "Don't you worry, Mr. Malfoy," one of them said, "we were taking wonderful care of her, now if you'll let us get back to it."

The girl turned and looked at her boss in question. "Ma'am?"

Looking appropriately abashed, the manager offered a tense little smile and nodded. "Of course. Whatever she wants is perfect."

When she returned behind the counter and the girls had bustled off again to fetch things for her to try on, Hermione gestured for Draco to come closer. "What the bloody hell just happened?"

He smirked. "Golden rule of the social elite—the customer is always right. And, _of course_, the more money they have, the more right they are."

She arched a brow at him, but couldn't help smiling. "Just how wealthy is your family?"

"I'd tell you, but it's pretty disgusting."

Hermione giggled.

"By the way," he said, lowering his head to whisper in her ear. "You were brilliant."

His warm breath against her skin made her shiver a bit, but they both pretended not to notice.

"Well," she whispered back, "you caught me off-guard with that bit. But I've been reading anything they'd give me for years. You read the same, nonsensical teen romance dramas over and over again, you pick up a few things."

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><p>Later—after having to call a car service simply to assist in taking her bags back to the flat—she sat beside Draco and across from Harry in a restaurant. Harry was relieved she no longer looked like the same girl he'd befriended months ago. A fitted black turtleneck, designer jeans and polished, knee-high leather boots were a far cry from monochrome workout sets and trainers. Her hair was still wild, but her stylishly-lopsided black beret kept most of the golden brown mane securely behind her shoulders.<p>

She blinked as she set down her cappuccino—her first one, ever, Harry was sure, though he already regretted her impending caffeine rush which he and Draco would have to endure—and smiled. "Okay, I know we have a very serious thing ahead of us, but I just want to say this has been the best few days of my life!"

Draco furrowed his brow as the waiter set their plates before them. Once the man was gone, he said, "Days? You spent the last two sitting in my flat, playing games on my phone and waiting to hear back from Potter that they actually _let _him resign, and that no one assumed you'd survived."

"Didn't _let me_ resign without signing about ten billion nondisclosure forms, thanks very much," Harry said as he watched Hermione inspect the lobster on her plate. She'd never had seafood before, so Draco insisted.

Harry thought perhaps they were on some mad dash for her to experience life before they started planning whatever it was they were going to do. Not that it was such a terrible thing—other than one ominous vagary about danger coming, they didn't have an actual time frame, did they? For a girl who couldn't die, time was likely an entirely different concept than it was for most people.

Draco had ordered the same thing, hoping she'd follow his lead on how to eat it without having an awful, embarrassing scene like in that 80's American film about the mermaid.

"I've been thinking we should find out more about your father's disappearance," she said abruptly.

Draco's head snapped up in surprise and Harry made a choked sound of shock as he swallowed a mouthful of rib eye steak, whole.

"All right, so perhaps a _little _lead in was in order," she muttered, her voice thoughtful.

Scowling, Draco shook his head at her. "You think?"

"Sorry."

"What's this about my father, again?"

She sighed, setting aside her utensils. She was having trouble eating something that had a face like _that_, anyway. "Remember the other night when we were talking and I said the thing about fate?"

"Oh," Harry said with a laugh as his eyebrows shot up. "So she's sleeping in your bed _and_ you two are have chats about fate?" He looked back and forth between them. "Should I start feeling like a third wheel now?"

Hermione's face puckered in question, but Draco only rolled his eyes as he said, "Oh, shut up, Potter. Yes, Hermione, I remember."

She shook her head, ignoring Harry's amusement at their expense. So what that maybe she was clinging—metaphorically, of course—to Draco a bit harder than made sense. He was the only other person besides Harry whom she could ever remember being kind to her and she didn't have any other means to show how much that kindness meant to her.

"Okay, so if everything sort of lines up, I can't help feeling that there's more to your father's disappearance than him_ just_ so happening to abandon you and your mother while he was researching the entity responsible for my . . . condition." Hermione placed her hand over his on the table when he winced at her words. "I'm sorry, I know this is a sore subject, but it can't _not_ be connected."

Dark eyebrows shooting up into his pale hair, Draco chewed ferociously on his lower lip as he gave her statement time to roll through his mind. "You're saying you think it has something to do—as in _directly _to do—with what's going on now?"

She nodded.

Shoulders slumping, he looked to Potter.

Harry let out a breath from between pursed lips as he shrugged. "Hell, I've only been paying attention half the time and even _I_ think it's a strong possibility."

Hermione squeezed his hand gently, dragging his gaze back to hers. "Look, if I'm wrong, then I'm wrong, but we at least have to try to find out."

"I don't . . . ." Draco shook his head, swallowing hard. "I told you, I don't remember much, but . . . ." He hated this, but he'd be daft not to see that a connection was possible. "Fine. You're in luck."

The bitterness in his voice made her cringe, but she couldn't blame him.

"I haven't gone there—ever—but my mother didn't have the heart to throw away any of his things, yet didn't want to give herself the option to keep them close, either." He let out a sigh. "She put everything that was his in storage, and I have the key."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up as she exchanged a glance with Harry.

"Well," Harry said, speaking for both of them, "that's frighteningly convenient."


End file.
